Sweetheart
by NefarioussNess
Summary: "Are you willing to take on such grievances for HER sake?" he whispered into Stiles' ear. When Stiles had clenched his fists and nodded, that's when Peter gouged him. It had continued for hours, but Stiles refused to scream, to give Peter that sick satisfaction.


"Stiles, what in the holy hell happened to you?" Lydia asked calmly, at first.

Stiles could've sworn that her voice wavered; maybe he'd imagined it. He had always dreamed of the day that Lydia Martin would show genuine concern about his safety. But with the evidence showing so blatantly, it would make anyone's head turn in shock.

"Don't worry about it, Lyd," he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. He was doing a pretty shitty job at that.

"But you're caked in blood!" she hissed.

It was true. Blood soaked through his shirt, and there were jagged gashes at his throat and shoulders. Deep cuts were ingrained into his wrists and torso at well. Stiles winced at the pain coming from his ribcage; he would deal with that later. Just not in front of this girl he stilled cared for.

He didn't want to draw out sympathy from her in such a cheap way by telling her he went through all of that for her sake.

For her livelihood.

Stiles beat down the confession, much like the way Peter had nearly torn out his jugular. He refused to make her feel guilty about the whole thing; that would be such a dick move on his part.

His mind brought him back to the nightmare from a couple of hours ago. Approaching Peter at the Hale house, and surprised to find that the older man had been waiting for him. Derek was nowhere to be found.

Peter's arms were crossed as he leaned his hip against one of the charred, ruined walls. "I'm assuming that you're here to discuss our little Alpha problem here in town?"

Stiles nodded. "I need to mislead them; get them off a certain person's trail."

Peter smiled, baring his teeth casually. "And would that 'certain person' be your dear, sweet Lydia?"

Stiles' face flushed, and then he felt anger rise up within him. He hated the way the werewolf bastard said her name. His mind flashed back to the night of the winter dance. He remembered the panic and utter dismay he felt when he saw Lydia at Peter's mercy.

How useless he felt.

"Yes," Stiles finally said, gritting his teeth.

Peter pushed himself off the wall, making his way to where Stiles stood. The teen held his ground, even though he felt like running. Peter still terrified the shit out of him.

The older wolf stopped in front of him, uncomfortably close. "What are you willing to do, Stiles?" Peter asked him.

"Whatever it takes," Stiles said quickly.

"So noble," Peter drawled, "and stupid. What you're asking me to do will be quite painful on your part, but it'll lure those Alphas away from Lydia's—"

"Don't say her name like that!" Stiles said angrily. Peter paused, cocking his head to one side as he analyzed Stiles' face. He seemed… amused, and it annoyed the hell out of the teen.

"My apologies," Peter murmured sarcastically, "but I really am here to help. That useless nephew of mine will need all of the assistance he can get, and getting the Alphas off of your girl's scent will buy us all time. But," Peter added, and he held out a hand, and Stiles flinched as the older man traced his fingertips along Stiles' jawline, "in order to do that, we must cover you in a werewolf's scent. It'll throw them off by allowing them to believe that a human like you is actually _worth_ something to Derek's pack."

_Actually worth something._

That was a punch in the gut. Sure, Stiles was used to Derek's attitude with him by now. He knew that he annoyed the Alpha, but they'd both saved each other's asses in the past. But the way Peter said it he made Stiles seem like an inconvenience.

He refused to show how much that hurt, and instead opted to glare in Peter's face. Peter chuckled darkly, and Stiles shuddered.

"Are you willing to take on such grievances for HER sake?" he whispered into Stiles' ear. When Stiles had clenched his fists and nodded, that's when Peter gouged him. It had continued for hours, but Stiles refused to scream, to give Peter that sick satisfaction.

Stiles only wanted to draw attention away from Lydia. The Alpha pack was on the move, and if they'd known about her "enticing immunity", as Peter had chillingly put it, she would've been torn apart by them.

Or worse.

Jackson was still getting used to being a werewolf, and Lydia would never forgive herself if he got hurt for her sake. So it was all up to Stiles to attract the Alphas, make them think that he was worth something. So he'd allowed Peter to draw blood, to torture him endlessly.

For her sake.

Stiles could still feel the agonizing sensation of Peter dragging his claws across his ribs as the former Alpha held him, chest to back. Blood had welled up, blossoming darkly on his plaid shirt. Stiles gasped, and he could feel Peter smile in satisfaction.

"The stupid things humans do for love," he sighed, stabbing his claws into Stiles' hips. "You're quite the masochist, darling."

Stiles bit his lip. Don't give in, he thought, but as Peter bit his throat hot tears began roll down his face.

Peter rested his chin on the top of Stiles' head, breathing in the mix of hormones and devotion coming off of the teen in waves. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him firmly in place, smiling as Stiles' body shook as an onslaught of tears overtook him. Peter felt criminally aroused as Stiles shuddered against him.

He knew the question before the boy had uttered it. "No sweetheart," he purred menacingly. "It's far from over. My scent has to completely overwhelm you first. That was our deal."

"Dude, I bleed out any more, and I'm gonna have to get a blood transfusion to keep myself from dying," Stiles squeaked out. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Make all the jokes you want, dearest, but you're still mine, in this moment at least. What I just did," he said, kissing the top of Stiles' head, "was laid out the groundwork. It was the blueprints for the rest of our little... project."

"Can't I get a fucking breather?" Stiles snapped, trying to break free from Peter, but the older man held him back, stifling his struggles.

He shoved Stiles onto the ground, and promptly flipped him onto his back. Peter was on top of him in a millisecond, his legs pressed on either side of Stiles' hips. Stiles struggled to break free, but Peter merely grabbed his wrists and held them above his head. He leaned in close, his breath warming Stiles' bloodied throat.

"Don't be so impatient, sweetheart," Peter cooed, dragging his wet tongue across Stiles' jugular, then making its way across the boy's face and tenderly licking Stiles' lips.

Stiles felt the urge to gag, tempted to spit into the creeper's lusting face. His eyes rolled up into his head when Peter's tongue made his way into Stiles' mouth, trying to coax his teeth to part. Stiles kept his jaw clenched. Just because he was saving Lydia didn't mean he wouldn't put up a fight against this sick motherfucker. He wanted to piss Peter off, even though he would pay for it in the end. But Peter's claws dug painfully into his wrists and Stiles finally relented, allowing Peter to travel further down his throat.

He felt so violated in that moment.

Peter shifted his hands, allowing his left one to continue holding up Stiles' wrists and allowed the right one to slide down the length of the teen's body. He dug his claws into the side of Stiles' torso, making him gasp in pain. Peter's tongue continued to explore the inside of the teen's mouth, and the wolf moaned slightly from Stiles' body heat skyrocketing. He pulled out his claws, stained with his precious toy's blood, and brought it up to Stiles' tear-streaked face, stroking it softly.

"Hush darling," he whispered in that soothing voice that seemed to mock the teen. "Unfortunately, we're almost done with the procedure. You'll smell like a werewolf's whore soon enough."

Stiles trembled underneath it. Fuck it all, Stiles thought miserably as Peter began to slowly thrust into him. How fucking tasteless of the creep, to dry hump a teenage boy like a dog in heat.

"Jesus Christ, just stop!" Stiles shouted, but his protests were muffled when Peter went down on him and smashed his lips against Stiles'. Peter had both hands on the teen's face, dragging his claws down them until lines of blood dotted against his flesh.

When Peter lifted his head in satisfaction, Stiles screamed to holy hell. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to choke down the sobs that were threatening to overcome him.

Peter had Stiles' shoulders pinned down as he continued to thrust.

"It's almost done, sweetheart," he promised, ignoring Stiles' futile struggles. Peter felt himself panting, and finally he slowed down, his body now still. A striking contrast to Stiles' shaking one.

He leaned down, tenderly kissing into the crook of Stiles' neck longingly. "There," he purred seductively, reluctantly raising himself as he released the teen.

Stiles scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping and falling over as he tried to have as much space between him and Pedo-Wolf. He felt the urge to vomit; to get the taste of Peter Hale out of his mouth. He wiped his lips into his sleeve, glaring at Peter as he did so.

"So this will work?" he asked. "This whole molestation-for-a-were-scent crap you just put me through?"

"I had your consent, did I not?" Peter said, sounding more amused than annoyed. "But I honestly have no idea if this will work anyway."

Stiles stared at him, his heart pounding violently in his chest. "Then what the fuck just happened?!" he screamed at him. "Was I just Patient Zero for your fucking experiment then?!"

"You were beautiful, Stiles," Peter said, giving him a pitiful, slow clap. "Your resistance made the process much more enjoyable. We should really do more of these interactions in the future."

He was mocking him. How could Stiles have been so stupid?

_The stupid things humans do for love._

Peter crossed the small space separating him and Stiles, forcing the teen to back up until his back hit one of the remaining walls. Stiles raised hands, curling them into fists. Peter rolled his eyes.

"You can't possibly hope to fight me and win, do you sweetheart?"

"Stop calling me that!" Stiles shouted, aiming a fist at Peter's face. The older man grabbed his wrist, tightening his fingers around it until bruises started to form. Stiles gasped in pain, and tried with his other fist. Peter caught that one too.

"Really now?" Peter muttered, holding Stiles' wrist above his head. He pressed his body into the teen's, resting his forehead against his. "Stiles, right now I need you to relax. We're far from over. If you want to save your precious Lydia, then you'll need my scent on you to be stronger. Right now, it's abysmally weak."

Stiles stared at him, a horrified expression on his face. "You expect to go through this with you multiple times?! Fuck that!"

"This is for Lydia, is it not?" Peter said. Stiles' body stilled.

Save Lydia, stop her from getting more involved than she already is. Hell, she may not even appreciate it, but he didn't care. Oh God, he was so fucked up.

"Is it not?" Peter growled, slamming Stiles sharply against the wall. Stiles winced.

"You know it is," Stiles shot back. His body was wracked with pain, and his wounds stung in the cold air surrounding them.

Peter grinned, leaning forward to lick Stiles' exposed throat, making his way up the side of Stiles' face. "Then I want you well-rested for round two."

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling of Peter's teeth now scraping across his lips.

This was for her sake.


End file.
